


Until We Meet Again

by saltcirclesam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fallen Castiel, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltcirclesam/pseuds/saltcirclesam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is not an AU, but just plays out as if Castiel was able to stay in the bunker with the Winchesters and Sam was not possessed by Ezekiel.  It's a one-shot, and there will be no additions to the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this originally on my Wattpad account, but after rereading it there I've decided to edit it up a bit and post it here.   
> It's far from perfect and I am nowhere near a professional writer, but I did put effort into it. Comments are encouraged (:
> 
> Also! I do not own any of the characters (all rights go to CW and the Supernatural Cast & Crew) though this segment of writing is my own. Please don't repost anywhere without credit.
> 
> WARNING: There is a major character death, but it is pointed out in the first sentence.

His death wasn't violent, bloody, and tragic like everyone had expected it to be. It wasn't falling in battle or sacrificing himself to save an innocent. No, it was something completely unexpected, something so normal that it shook Dean Winchester to the core.

One day, he just didn't wake up. It was as normal of a day as any; Sam waking up early and leaving the bunker for a jog after making a quick breakfast, not expecting anyone to be up yet. Dean had gotten a surprising amount of sleep that night, able to reach a total of six hours instead of his average four. That was some of the many pluses that came with having a home, or at least making the bunker into one.

Dean had gotten up around ten in the morning, showering before eating whatever breakfast Sam had left him and thumbing through some old files. Twelve o'clock crept up on him, and still, the bunker was silent. Unnerving.

That's when he began feeling like something was very, very wrong. And he was right.

Castiel was usually up by now, or as up as he was able to be. The past few weeks he had gotten sleepier, weaker. More human. Of course, he never complained about it, hardly letting even a yawn escape his mouth in front of the Winchesters. It was just like him, not wanting to worry anyone. Dean now wish that he had; that he'd pressed the matter of losing his grace just a little more.

Cas would never get his grace back. That was clear. Lately, he'd been surviving off of borrowed grace. Dean wished the angel had told him just how fast it was fading; and what would occur when it finally disappeared.

"Hey, Cas! You awake?" Dean had finally decided to check on Castiel, at least make him eat something. He hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday..

The hunter was met with silence. His stomach clenched.

The last stretch of hallway that flooded out before Dean was agonizing, his creaky footsteps much too loud in the abnormal silence. With each step, his anxiety fluttered just a little more.

He reached the door of the fallen angel's bedroom.

"Cas!... Okay, man, I'm coming in.." Dean announced before pushing the heavy door open and striding into the bedroom. The sight he saw caused a small grin to work its way on his lips, Dean instantly lowering his voice. Sleeping.. Or so he assumed. Relief washed over him like cool water on a hot day.

Cas had buried himself in the thick, feather-filled blankets Dean had given him not even a month before when he had moved in, just the top of his head poking out of the bundle. Messy, dark hair that stuck up in all directions. Cas. Familiar. 

Dean slowly strode over to the side of the bed, tugging at the blankets a little. "Hey, bud, wake up. It's past twelve." Dean shook him a little, waiting for some sort of reaction. A groan, a yawn, a movement of limbs, anything.

Nothing.

A lump formed in his throat.

"Cas.." He waited. "Cas, hey, get up..!" Dean spoke louder, now yanking the blankets off the angel.

His expression was so peaceful; lips parted just slightly, eyelids relaxed and closed, no creases in his brow that he so often wore when he was awake.

It would have made Dean grin if his lips hadn't been tinted blue and his skin an unnatural pale color.

Panic. Dean began to panic.

"Cas, you son of a bitch, up!" Dean yelled, eyes wide as he shook the angel. Dean didn't even recognize his own voice. It almost surprised him, that desperate, feral sound. No, no, no. No!

"CAS!" Dean shouted, pulling the angel desperately as terror filled his expression. No, this couldn't be happening, it wasn't. It couldn't. Castiel wouldn't leave him like this.

"Cas, please, PLEASE!" The Winchester's plea was torn and broken as he grabbed the angel and tried tugging him upwards, clinging to him. Castiel's head just lolled limply to the side. "God dammit no, no." It came out as a growled whisper, the voice of broken disbelief. The pain Dean felt now...

There wasn't words.

Cas was gone. His grace had just... Faded away. Faded away until there was nothing there but an empty, lifeless vessel.

Castiel couldn't come to Dean now, to comfort him as broken sobs and angered screams filled the empty bunker and echoed uncomfortably down the halls. The eldest Winchester clung to the body, as if he could somehow squeeze the life back into it, could somehow will Castiel to return to him.

That's how Sam found him, alerted by the devastated wailing coming from a sore throat. Dean, emotionally shattered and clutching helplessly to a lifeless body.

Sam's jaw dropped.

***  
The rest went by in a blur, Sam having to convince Dean to let go, to just let him go, Dean. It was absolute heartbreak, and there was no other way to describe it. A mixture of pain, sorrow, rage, and confusion. Emotions Dean didn't have a name for.

For days afterwards Dean had stumbled around drunk and angry, breaking anything that got in his way. Though at night, Sam could still hear him crying. Could hear his brother breaking.

Sam couldn't share the intensity of Dean's grief. The sorrow Sam felt was not the same, and it left him helpless to watch Dean spiral away.

Dean had wanted to bury Castiel's vessel as he was, promising that he would get Cas back, that his body would need to be whole. It was eerily familiar to Sam, those words.

But, after hours of screaming and arguing, Dean's shoulders slumped in defeat and he agreed to a true hunter's funeral; salt and burn. After all, that's what Castiel deserved. Final peace, and to depart as a true hunter and friend.

As family.

As more.

They'd buried what was left of Castiel after the burn, right under a tree by the warehouse that Dean had first met him. And after many years, Dean would continue to visit the spot as often as he could.

Dean kept the trench coat, even wearing it when he thought nobody would see. When he thought he was truly alone, just himself and what he had left of his best friend, of his 'maybe more'. It helped him cope with the pain.

***  
Today, five years to the exact day that Castiel had faded away, Dean revisited the warehouse. Their warehouse. 

He drove up in the Impala, the roar of the engine bringing life to the abandoned area. Of course, Sam had come to pay his respects also; but he was mainly there for his brother. And for Sam, it felt nice to know his brother needed him, that he could bring Dean a little comfort during a tough time.

Dean was wearing the trench coat, and Sam didn't mention it. It had been a silent agreement not to talk about how Dean dealt with pain. More often than not, he coped with pain just by inflicting more to himself. The old 'if I break my hand, I won't notice the pain in my foot' theory. Sam didn't always approve, but he let it slide. Dean's grief was out of his control.

Dean had brought a few things to set by the tree; a lighter of his, a fake ID, and a flower, all ready to be planted. Dean had went out of his way to find the flower; the certain scent that this one gave off promising to attract bees. Castiel had loved the bees, and Dean didn't bother to think past that fact. That he had brought flowers to gravesite was irrelevant.

Dean had allowed Sam to help plant the small, shrub like plant, and they were silent. There was nothing to say. It felt so wrong, sitting underneath a tree and talking to someone you had loved so much, knowing they wouldn't hear you. Knowing you were speaking to what had been, throwing words out to the past and expecting it to respond like a future.

The brothers stayed for a few hours, watching quietly as a few bees found interest in the flower they'd planted with a hint of satisfaction, both silently wishing for something they no longer had.

Dean took the time to embrace old memories that he had locked away, pushed as far from his mind as he was able to. But now, he searched for them and remembered them fondly, accepting each one as a part of who he was. And when he began to cry, Sam didn't judge him. Instead, he gave his brother the comfort of knowing that he was there and sharing the pain; but also willing to leave it behind. To leave their pain at the tree and not carry it with them anymore.

As the sun set and the Winchesters turned to leave, brushing dirt from their jeans and casting a few glances back at the old tree, Dean felt the desire for finality. For closure.

Sam closed the door to the Impala, Dean holding onto the handle of the driver's door as he took one, long and last look at the tree, so many words forming in his mind, so many things that he had wanted to say. Dean hoped Castiel knew just how much he had meant to him. How painful the past few years had been without him.

"Goodbye, Cas." Dean murmured quietly, taking a deep breath before squeaking the car door open and slamming it shut behind him, turning the ignition and leaving the warehouse behind in his rear view mirror; the roar of the impala engine echoing in the clearing even after they had left. Behind him Dean left tire marks in the grass and an imprint of a heavy heart. With his exhale, he dropped the weight of sorrow from his shoulders and let it fall from the pressure in his chest; replacing it with a sense of humbleness.

As the moon replaced the sun and the stars came out to shine, a feeling of pure and absolute peace washed over the eldest Winchester. As Dean earned closure and left his past behind him, the tires of the old muscle car pushing him towards his future, something shifted and a new faith found itself wedged in Dean's heart.

It was no longer denial that came from anger and sorrow; but a faith that was born from his love and appreciation towards an old friend, and the hope was final. That someday, just maybe, he would see his angel again.

And until that day, he would carry on.


End file.
